


Soaked

by VT44



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BSL, Bad Dreams, Deaf John, Flashbacks, Guilty Sherlock, Hospital, Hurt John, Lip reading, M/M, Permanent Injury, Sherlock Feels, Sign Language, Torture, Violence, attempted suicide, burden john, deafness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4921951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VT44/pseuds/VT44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the 'Pool Incident' John and Sherlock must reassess their lives, both as individuals and together, as the guilt of the night threatens to consume them both. </p>
<p>Amongst all of that Moriarty is still out there, waiting to be found, continuing his games. </p>
<p>Sherlock and John must learn to work together in a completely different manner if they are ever to beat him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock! That was the first thing John Watson thought of when he regiaed consciousness. Not Harry, not his mother, definitely not his father, not even what the hell happened (although that would come quite quickly later), just Sherlock. The name loud and clear reverberating through his skull, like that was the only though worth having ever in the entire world. 

John groaned, low and guttural. Coming back to his senses was not the best idea, the pain was incredible. He could only remember having pain like this once before. When he was shot. When he was shot in Afghanistan. In Afghanistan. But he couldn't be back in Afghanistan now. Specially not after his first thought upon regaining consciousness was Sherlock. 

Holy shit, where was Sherlock. What had happened. They had been at Bart's, then he'd left Sherlock there, in a bit of a huff, then... Nothing.   
He groaned again, this time a little louder, and tried to open his eyes. When he thought he thought he'd opened them, it was pitch black. He tried to wiggle his toes, it worked, but a sharp shooting pain raced up his left leg, causing him to gasp. But he carried on trying to assess himself. Next his fingers, they worked, and didn't hurt too much. Eyes again. Still nothing. He moved his arms and reached up for his eyes. His fingers brushed the soft fabric of a bandage. He let out a short sigh of relief. 

Ok, so that was why he couldn't see... Possibly. He couldn't help moaning as his leg throbbed and all of a sudden he felt like his head was going to split in two.   
'Sherlock' he tried to say but it came out more like a whisper. Well at least his voice was sort of working! 

'Sherlock?' He tried again, and it came out more like a croak instead of a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried one last time.

'Sherlock!' He could tell that came out sharper than the first two, but still seemed muffled. The bandage was probably covering his ears too, no big deal.   
All of a sudden he felt a hand on his, squeezing gently. He knew that hand, it was Sherlock. 

'Sherlock' he breathed. 'What happened? Are you ok?' The hand squeezed his again. 

'Sherlock? I can't hear you, speak up' the hands squeezed his again, and his heart began to race. He waited a moment, and felt Sherlock turn his hand over so his palm was facing up. 

This is a bit strange, why doesn't he just talk to me. John felt Sherlock trace something over his hand.   
'Again' Sherlock traced again, slower this time.   
'H' John still didn't quite grasp what was going on but he concentrated as best he could.   
'E' 'A' 'R' 'I' 'N' 'G' '-' 'hearing Sherlock yes, I know it's a bit muffled.' Sherlock squeezed his hand again. John could feel a small corner of panic beginning in his stomach. 

'L' 'O' 'S' 'S' '-' 'loss. Hearing loss. What the fuck? How can I have hearing loss? I don't even remember what fucking happened? Sherlock what the fuck, speak to me! TALK to me!' John felt the panic rise. He tensed his muscles causing him to cry out as his leg throbbed painfully. His breathing began to quicken and he started to feel light headed. 

'Shit, ah, fuck. Sherlock, Sherlock please this isn't funny. Please just speak to me.' John felt Sherlock squeeze his hand again, and run a hand through his hair.  
'No don't patronise me. I'm getting up, I'm going to speak to someone who won't play games with me.' John started to sit up, ignoring the splitting pain in his head and the throbbing of his leg. He felt weak but angry enough to go find some answers. Sherlock's hands moved from his hands and pushed him back down onto the bed, holding him down by his biceps. John began to struggle.   
'Stop it Sherlock, just stop it.' 

John felt the whoosh of air that could have been a door or curtain being pulled open.   
'Whose there? Tell me what's happening! Mycroft is that you?' John felt another pair of hands on him, and felt as something cool seemed to flow through his veins. His struggling became weaker, and he could feel himself slipping away. He looked toward where he thought Sherlock's face would be; the fear evident in his voice when he spoke. 

'Sherlock, don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I....' 

*********************************************************************

Sherlock sighed squeezing John’s hands one last time before returning to sit on the hard plastic chair next to John’s bed. The quiet beeping of John’s machine’s kept him sane, the knowledge that John’s heart was still successfully beating. He was completely and utterly exhausted but he couldn’t sleep. He could barely eat, and to top it all off they had now been in ICU for 4 days and this was the first time John had woken up. The words ‘induced coma’, ‘hearing loss’, ‘facial swelling’, ‘bullet wound’, ‘upper thigh left side’, ‘missed his bone’, ‘broken left ankle’, ‘possible brain damage’ continued an endless circuit around and around his brain. Sure he was hurt and he probably needed to rest, dam the stupid transport for its weaknesses, but he couldn’t bear to leave John’s side. What if something happened while he was gone, what if John needed him.

The nurse sitting at the end of John’s bed, clicked her pen a couple of times and glanced up at John’s monitors, taking the quarter hourly notes and checks. Sherlock knew it would show no change, John would most likely be out for another couple of hours at a minimum, hopefully up to 12, to continue to let his body rest and recuperate. Sherlock gently took John’s hand in his own again. He knew when John awoke again the tactile sensation of Sherlock’s hand would help calm the immediate fear and confusion John may feel. Sherlock wondered if he would even remember what had just happened, hopefully he would. Sherlock wasn’t sure he would be able to repeat the same process every time John woke up. It would be different soon though, in about 3 days, when the swelling in John’s face started to go down and he would be able to see again. Having two of the most valuable sensors ‘under repair’ must have been utter terror for the poor man, he would be feeling… No stop. Sherlock shook his head slightly, and leant down to rest it on the metal bed rail. He would not think about anyone’s emotions rights now. His own that had been stirred at the pool were sitting heavily in his stomach but there was nothing to do about them until he knew John was going to be ok.  
Then and only then would he examine them with a critical eye and try and lock them away or delete them. John didn’t and would never feel about him in the same way, and Sherlock was not going to ruin the relationship that they already had under any circumstances. 

‘I love you John, you will pull through this and I’ll help you any way I can’ Sherlock whispered, closing his eyes and trying to relax. 

The nurse at the end of John’s bed smiled slightly and grabbed a blanket from the nearby pile, gently draping it over Sherlock’s shoulders. She knew he was pretending to be asleep, but gave his back a gentle rub. The sigh from the recipient of the rub told her everything she need to know, and she went back to her monitoring station, turning off all but her little desk light, in a hope that Sherlock would catch a few winks of sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

_Brother dear_. The words floated across Sherlock’s subconscious. He groaned slightly and waved his hand at the offending noise.

‘Go away Mycroft’ he mumbled, sighing. His normally sharp brain took a moment to register, Mycroft is here. His eyes shot open and he sat up sharply, wincing as his back cracked from sleeping in such an unusual position. The blanket slid from his shoulders, landing on the chair. Sherlock glared upon seeing Mycroft standing next to the nurses table at the end of the bed. He quickly glanced at John, who was still sleeping, if not a little restlessly, but overall seemed fine. He swept his gaze over the monitors, everything still steady as she goes.

‘What do you want Mycroft?’ Sherlock rubbed at his eyes. Mycroft was slightly surprised by Sherlock’s defeated tone; surely he hadn’t given up already.

‘I thought you might like to accompany me to the doctors’ lounge’

‘Not particularly, I need to be here for John’ as if to make the point clear Sherlock gently took hold of John’s hand. Mycroft sighed.

‘Dr Watson will be asleep for at least another hour yet, but you brother dear, need to keep up your level of personal hygiene and eat something, lest you collapse or are ill yourself. Then you will be no help to Dr Watson whatsoever.’ Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, before standing.

‘I can’t dispute the logic of that’ He turned John’s hand over, so his palm was facing up and traced –

‘I’ - ‘W’ ‘I’ ‘L’ ‘L’ - ‘B’ ‘E’ - ‘R’ ‘I’ ‘G’ ‘H’ ‘T’ – ‘B’ ‘A’ ‘C’ ‘K’

Sherlock grabbed the blanket, wrapped it securely around his shoulders and followed Mycroft out of ICU. Neither of them noticed the twitch of John’s fingers and the tensing of his legs.

***************************************************************************

_John’s first thought when he had been kidnapped was – what the hell has Sherlock gotten himself into._

_His second thought had been that now he was up shit creek without a paddle as he was told to dress in the bomb and jacket, at gun point mind you, before being told to sit and wait._

_John didn’t have to wait long at all before Moriarty was talking in his ear, telling him to enter the pool and repeat everything he said. John followed all instructions but would not mimic Moriarty’s sing song voice, nor did he think too much about it when the man himself entered the pool. He reacted instinctively when Sherlock was threatened and then realised the silliness of his compulsive action almost too late._

_John began weighing up his options. Number 1 – stand mute and let Moriarty have his fun with Sherlock, hoping that Sherlock had some idea of how to defeat him this time. One look at him immediately wiped that option from John’s mind. Beneath his calm exterior, John could tell Sherlock was terrified. It was noticeable in the slight shifting of his eyes, the way he was holding the gun, the way he stood. Right Number 2 option – quickly figure out a way to get Sherlock to safety and take out Moriarty at the same time._

_Before John let himself think about it too much, Moriarty had exited the building and the red dots had disappeared. Sherlock was by his side in an instant, helping him out of the bomb explosive jacket and throwing it as far as possible away. John pulled Sherlock close and whispered in his ear._

_‘When Moriarty comes back, shoot the jacket. You’ll need to be ready to jump; take the shot, then jump in the pool, as far as you can.’ John let him go, and saw a flicker of registration on Sherlock’s face before he began pacing the pool deck, gun in hand. John slid down the wall of one of the cubicles, breathing hard._

_‘You know people will talk now’ John stated, staring at Sherlock, who promptly stopped pacing and stared at him. John subconsciously licked his lips._

_‘You can’t deny it any more than I can Sherlock’ John balled his hands by his side, when Sherlock still stood motionless, staring at him. ‘Why did I say anything, now I’ve ruined everything’ John thought to himself. He looked back up at Sherlock who had just opened his mouth to speak._

_‘John…’_

_‘Sorry boys, I’m so changeable!’ Moriarty waltzed back in, arms spread wide grin plastered on his face._

_‘I don’t think I can let the two of you keep running around together, causing havoc and mayhem, getting in the way of MY plans.’ Moriarty rocked back on his feet, a gleeful expression lighting up his face, as almost a dozen red dots appeared on both Sherlock and John. What happened next seemed to take hours, but in reality was merely seconds._

_Sherlock raised the firearm, pointing directly at the jacket and thumbing off the safety, whilst Moriarty raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. John prepared himself to jump as soon as the bullet had left the gun. Sherlock pulled back on the trigger, but didn’t move as the bullet raced towards the jacket. A millisecond later John jumped, not into the pool but at Sherlock to push him into the pool and at the same time he felt a blinding pain in his leg. The jacket exploded just as they hit the water. John cried out and clutched at his leg whist simultaneously trying not to swallow too much water. Something smashed into his face right before he was fully submerged under the water and his world went black._

 

***************************************************************************

The door to the Doctor’s lounge opened with a sharp bang and Sherlock looked up from where he had been lying on the couch, jumping to attention upon seeing the look on the nurses face. Only then did he hear the pained cry coming from down the hall.

‘SHERLOCK… SHEERRRLOOOOOOCK!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the long wait - life got in the way a little bit, and then I got some writer's block. 
> 
> This chapter is not as long as I would like, but it shall do for now. I'll make it up to you all by making the next chapter much much longer! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> 19/10/15


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!!
> 
> I am so sorry for the MASSIVE delay, not only has it been my birthday and Christmas since i last updated, but also I made the big decision to move country! I am moving from Australia to England at the beginning of 2016!! Exciting and scary!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter, I would have liked it to be a bit longer but oh well. 
> 
> Not beta'd nor britpicked!

 

Sherlock sighed as John snuffled in his sleep. It had been 4 days since ‘the incident’, as they referred to it, and Sherlock was feeling exhausted. John was finally able to see again, much to his own relief and Sherlock’s, but he was still having difficulty believing Sherlock about his hearing loss. When Sherlock would try and speak with him through writing things down on a special whiteboard he had bought, John would snarl and send the whiteboard flying to the floor and growl at him that he ‘didn’t need that stupid thing’. Sherlock was at a loss as to what to do. He didn’t know how to get John to believe him. Whilst John was sleeping Sherlock took stock of his injuries. His facial swelling had gone down quite considerably, so now he only had a bandage covering his ears. He had an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose that clouded over every time John breathed out, Sherlock almost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the clouding, knowing that each time the mask clouded John was still breathing. The blankets came up to just under John’s arm pits and his arms and hands lay on top of the blankets. Although Sherlock couldn’t see it he knew there was a thick white bandage on John’s upper left thigh, cover the through and through bullet wound, and his left ankle was in plaster the break had been so bad. To alleviate any pressure from the blankets from John’s left leg, a mental cage had been placed over it to keep the blankets off.

 

The doctors had told him it was normal for John to sleep heavily for up to a week after he woke from surgery. His body needed the time to adequately heal. The week was nearly at a close and Sherlock could see no sign of John sleeping less, or not being as tired. Since ‘the incident’ John had only been awake for about 3 hours a day, and during those hours he was angry and aggressive. Nothing Sherlock did would appease him. Sherlock was almost at his wits end; he didn’t know what else to do to help John. He had done a little bit of research since the doctors had told him the diagnosis.

 

John’s deafness was called adventitious deafness as it had occurred after birth and that he most likely had nerve deafness caused by the trauma the experienced at the pool, that had disrupted his cochlear nerve. Sherlock had learnt about the three different parts of the ear being the Outer Ear, the Middle Ear and the Inner Ear. It was John’s Inner Ear that was damaged. The doctors had told him the other two parts of Johns ears were pretty much fine, but that the sound waves that are normally picked up by the cochlear and turned into electrical pulses to pass the message onto the brain were now, not reaching the brain at all. Sherlock had to sit down abruptly when the doctors told him that most severe cases of nerve deafness, such as John’s, don’t respond to treatment.

 

John gave a small moan and squeezed Sherlock’s left hand tightly. Over the past few days Sherlock had always made sure to take a hold of John’s hand while he slept. Not only to ground John each time he woke and was disoriented, but to ground himself as well. John moaned a second time and mumbled softly, turning his head towards Sherlock. Sherlock squeezed his hand gently.

‘John, it’s ok, you’re safe.’ Sherlock gently squeezed his hand again. Instead of jolting awake as usual, John’s eyes slowly opened, slightly glazed over. He blinked a number of times and sighed. Sherlock rubbed his thumb over John’s knuckles and smiled at him. John hesitantly smiled back, and huffed out into the oxygen mask.

‘Can you take it off please?’ John asked, voice muffled by the mask. Sherlock let go of John’s hand and moved the mask off his face and to the left side of John’s head, letting his fingers gently brush over John’s left cheek before grabbing his hand again. John looked up at him, squeezing his hand sharply, causing Sherlock too look directly into his eyes. Sherlock could see the pain. John took a deep breath before speaking.

‘Sherlock I…’ Sherlock could hear the pain in his voice, as he gulped loudly and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.

‘Thank you for staying with me. I’m sorry for the way I behaved.’ Sherlock shook his head, hoping to convey to John that it was no problem at all. He squeezed his hand again and gestured towards the whiteboard leaning on the side table behind him, asking the silent question.

‘Yes… use it’ John said after a long pause. Sherlock let go of John’s hand, feeling momentarily disconnected, but he pushed that feeling away as he grabbed the board.

 

 **It was no trouble John. I will be here in any way you need me to be.** Sherlock showed John the board. John’s eyes filled with tears. Sherlock hastily rubbed the words out and wrote again.

 **I’m so sorry I got you into this mess John. I will do ANYTHING to make it up to you.** Sherlock bowed his head as he showed John the board the second time. After a few moments he felt a hand clasp around his wrist. He looked up and saw John’s expression. It was an odd mixture of sadness, confusion and anger. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John.

 

‘Never feel sorry for getting me into this ‘mess’ as you call it Sherlock. I… my life before… it was… everything was just… and then.’ John gritted his teeth tightly, fighting tears. He looked down and gripped the sheets of his bed tightly in both hands. Sherlock wrote on the board again and gently touched John’s hand. John looked up.

 

**We will face this together John. I will not leave you behind again. We will tackle every moment together.**

‘Thank you Sherlock’ John sighed, two tears sliding down his face as he closed his eyes.

‘There’s only one thing I’m going to miss hearing, The sound of your brilliant and amazing voice’

And with that statement Sherlock’s heart broke.


	4. Chapter 4

John sighed coming back to himself, back to the harsh reality that lay before him. He was deaf. After 35 years of being able to hear, and being able to hear quite amazingly as it turned out, he could not hear anymore. And he would never hear again. He sighed again, opening his eyes and smiling slightly at the sight before him. Sherlock was sat in the recliner chair that had been brought in, his eyes closed, hands on top of one another on his chest, which rose and fell slowly in a rhythm. He was finally asleep.

 

Sherlock had weathered everything over the past two weeks. He had sat and waited while John was taken for test after test, always there when he awoke from his, seemingly, never ending sleep. It was tedious being so tired and only have so many waking hours, but John knew that his body was reacting to the stress, reacting to what had happened to him, and was trying to come to terms with what had actually happened and now what his life was going to be like.

 

Looking back John couldn’t believe the initial anger that had course through his every waking moment. The day he had woken and decided to let it all go, he had accepted what had happened and was ready to move on. After his conversation with Sherlock he had felt more alert, more aware of himself and his surroundings. The lack of facial swelling had certainly helped, and the fact that the tests had come back all clear for any signs of possible brain damage. Sherlock had huffed at this remarking that **“I could already tell you that Doctor, even lying in this hospital bed his is still able to be more intelligent that the entirety of Scotland Yard.”** John had blushed when Sherlock had turned the whiteboard around, mouthing out the words for him as well. Then he had smirked and rested back in his chair in ICU.

 

Due to the fact that he had suffered no brain damage and his facial swelling had gone down, John was moved out of ICU within 24 hours. He had now been on the ordinary ward for 5 days, and John knew the next step after this was rehab for a week just to make sure there was no lasting damage from the bullet wound and his smashed ankle (which would be in a moon boot for at least 6 weeks) and also to learn how to move around the flat with his weak leg, and what to do when showering. He would have to use the assistance of his blasted cane again for at least the 6 weeks, but possibly longer.

John tried not to let himself think too much about what he was going to do now that he was not able to hear nor able to run along beside Sherlock on cases. He would essentially be useless. Sherlock would soon grow tired of having to look after him, to help him with even the most basic of tasks, and would ask him to leave, of this there was no doubt. John contemplated whether he should get in first and just tell Sherlock that he would leave and find someone else to look after him along with somewhere else to live. He couldn’t bear to be a burden on Sherlock, especially not when every time he looked at the man these days, his stomach did an odd little flutter and his heart beat sped up and he found it that little bit harder to concentrate on whatever was happening. John tried to school his features into a neutral expression every time this happened, but he was sure Sherlock had seen it every now and then when he had been staring just that microsecond too long.

 

John was brought out of his thoughts when he felt the presence of someone standing next to him. He looked up and saw Sherlock’s worried face looking down at him.

**Penny for your thoughts?** John laughed quietly and shook his head.

‘Good sleep was it?’ Sherlock shrugged, going back to his chair now that he had John’s attention.

**Not unpleasant, a satisfying amount**. John let himself smile for a moment before deciding the conversation they needed to have, was better had now as soon as possible, rather than at a later date. His burden upon Sherlock should be reduced ASAP so Sherlock could get on with his passion, and get back to The Work.

 

“Sherlock we need to talk” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John to indicate he was listening.

“About what happened at the pool, before Moriarty came back.’ Sherlock looked up at him them, and John noticed the small gulp he took and the slight look of shock on his face, before the cool, calm and collected façade was back. Sherlock nodded at him to go on.

‘Well… I… just wanted to tell you that… well…’ In that moment he was ready to blurt it all out, to tell Sherlock how he really felt, how he had felt that way almost since their very first meeting, how he just wanted to be with him, to look after him and take care of him and help him be his brilliant amazing self. And then at the conclusion of cases, to take him home and take him apart. To love him like he should be loved, like he deserved to be loved. John swallowed the lump in his throat, clearing it and continuing on.

 

‘Well…ah… look I just wanted to say thank you so much for sticking around these past few weeks. I know it can’t have been easy for you.’ John felt himself blush slightly, shifted his gaze from Sherlock’s face and cleared his throat rather loud.

‘I’ve been thinking… and I think it might be best if I have some time without you for a while. Possibly even for a long long while. I’m not ever going to get better and I don’t want to be a burden on you and hold you back or drag you down. So when I’m released from hospital after my rehab, I’ll… I’ll come collect my belongings and move out, and then you won’t have to worry about me and you can get back to all the things you enjoy and are your passions.’ John gave a sad chuckle

‘Sherlock you can get back to being married to the Work and not have to worry about silly old broken me.’

 

Sherlock stood rooted to spot, unsure of exactly what he had just heard, but before he had a chance to reply the door to the room banged open, causing Sherlock to flinch quite badly, and John to look up in alarm at the sudden movement from that side of the room. In walked a women dressed in simple black tee, jeans and joggers who smiled brightly at John and Sherlock.

‘Johnny Boy! So good to see you again and oh so good of you to call and let me know what had happened to you. Oh no I have to find out from some random guy in a sleek black car who picks me up from the corner of my street when I am on my way to work. So stupid Johnny, always so stupid’

Sherlock stood, anger in his tone and stance at the ignorance of this stupid woman.

‘He’s deaf you idiot! And who are you anyway? And why are you here?’ Sherlock drew himself up to his full height.

‘Mycroft called me, I’m here to make sure Johnny Boy is looked after properly by moi. Moi being one Miss Harriet Watson.’ She then turned to John who sat in a state of shock, with a slight panic and confusion written on his face. She taped her nose and mouthed widely, slowly and loudly.

‘Don’t worry Johnny, everything is going to be alright now. I’m here to take you away from this… FREAK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you so much for all your comments and Kudos! almost 50 kudos is just amazing so thank you thank you!
> 
> Enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think as well. I am now hoping that I should have a chapter out every fortnight/ weekly, as I have gotten a lot of things finalised/ organised/ sorted for my big move from Australia to England which is coming up in February! so close now!!
> 
> Any comments and kudos greatly appreciated and any constructive criticism or even ideas for the future of the story/ the stories direction etc. Even just giving me a suburb of London for Harry Watson to live in!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY!!!
> 
> 7th Jan, that's quite a long time since my last chapter! SORRY!!!
> 
> Don't really have any excuse but I am going to use the fact that I moved halfway around the world, then had to settle into my new job, plus went on a holiday and had terrible writers block for this chapter as reasons why this chapter has taken so long. 
> 
> Anyway - enjoy! Kudos and comments please!
> 
> Hopefully it won't be so long till the next chapter now, I just have to write out a story plan and then I am hoping once a fortnight for an update :) I have a free day tomorrow so maybe i'll get the chance to write out the rest of my story plan for this story then!
> 
> Lots of Love to you my readers!

John stared long and hard at his computer, as he had been for the last 2 hours. His email stood open but blank. He had been trying to write to Sherlock for that entire time but couldn’t even think of how to start it off, let alone what to actually say.

_‘Dear Sherlock’_ was too formal for whatever was going on.

_‘Hey Sherlock’_ was too casual and just didn’t sound right anyway

_‘Sherlock’_ just by itself was… well it just didn’t seem an adequate way to start of the email either.

 

He gave his phone a quick glance as well, but still no message from Sherlock. Maybe he hadn’t acquired a new phone after the pool incident and that’s why he hadn’t heard. John knew that Sherlock was one for texting, so that must have been why he hadn’t text. Sure John could have text him but how would he start of the text?

**_I think I love you, you bastard come and rescue me from this shit hole!_ **

No definitely not. John still wasn’t sure of Sherlock’s feelings and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin any friendship, if they were still friends; that they may have in the future.

 

How could he put into words what he was feeling anyway and what had been happening since he had been on his own again. It had almost been a whole month since Harry had turned up at the hospital and sent Sherlock packing. Sherlock hadn’t even put up any fight when Harry had told him to leave. Of course he hadn’t been able to hear what was being said between the two of them, but from the brief resigned look on Sherlock’s face and the fact he didn’t even glance in his direction as he grabbed his meagre belongings and stalked from the room. Harry had grinned at him and mouthed something he didn’t quite catch before plopping herself down in ‘Sherlock’s’ chair and pulling out her phone. John had sighed, laid back on the bed and tried to remember the body language Sherlock had been displaying whilst he had been telling him to leave him behind. He wanted to know if he could spot anything that would alert him to whether or not Sherlock felt the same way.

 

After another few days on the ward, John was moved to the rehab unit. He found it increasingly difficult to communicate with people and, even though the hospital had people come and try to speak to him, try to get him started learning to lip read or learn sign language, John always just waved them away, or turned his back on them. It was exhausting thinking about having to learn to speak again just so he could hear others. Rehab had been agonising. Sherlock didn’t come and visit him and Harry, of course, never came to visit so he spent many hours sitting alone in his four bedded room staring into space. As he lay there he had wondered what the point of getting better was. He had been through this once before, the only saving grace then had been meeting Sherlock but if he didn’t even have that… well what was there for him to live for now.

 

When it was determined that he was strong enough and had enough ‘skills’ to leave hospital with, his foot secured in a moon boot, with crutches to keep the pressure off his gunshot wound, Harry had finally come to pick him up and took him back to her flat. John had only been to her flat once before and he remembered why he had not returned. The flat was small, dark and incredibly dirty. John wasn’t sure the last time Harry had bothered to clean but it would be at least a couple of months. Empty bottles of wine littered the floor and almost every available surface, except in the small second bedroom Harry had shown him into. That had been a good week ago and since then John had hardly seen Harry at all. He spent most of his days lying on the bed, occasionally doing the physio exercises but for all intents and purposes, he didn’t feel wanted or needed , so why bother with something as still as physio exercises.

 

John slammed the lid of his laptop closed and threw it across the room, where it came to rest with a crash near to the door. He turned away from the door and let his thoughts run away with him.

Did Sherlock really think so little of him that he wouldn’t even come and visit? John mulled over what had happened at the pool, had he been imagining the look Sherlock had given him, had he imagined the way Sherlock had gently touched his cheek in the hospital. Had he read into the words ‘ **We will face this together John; I will not leave you behind again. We will tackle every moment together’** too much?

 

Tears pooled in the corners of John’s eyes and he didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away, he let them roll down his face and slowly drip onto the pillow.

‘Sherlock’ he whispered

‘Please Sherlock’.

 

***************************************************************************

 

He heard the tell-tale knock of the umbrella on the stairs, and the heavy tread of his brother but made no move to answer the door when the knock sounded.

‘Sherlock, open up’ Mycroft called through the door. Sherlock let out a loud huff and ignored the door. Mycroft knocked a second time, but Sherlock didn’t even twitch. When he heard Mycroft skilfully picking the lock he pulled his dressing gown tighter around himself and buried his head in the pillow. He had been on this couch for the better part of the last few weeks, ever since Harriet Watson had shown up in John’s hospital room.

Sherlock didn’t see any reason to stay after she kicked him out, and John certainly didn’t ask him to stay – in fact he had told Sherlock he was going to be leaving anyway so why would Sherlock need to stay now that Harriet was there.

 

The door swung open to reveal Mycroft, as always in his three piece suit, umbrella on his arm, an annoying thin smile on his face. Sherlock huffed and tried to bury himself deeper in to the couch.

‘Oh Brother Dear, wallowing in self-pity does not suit you’ Mycroft crossed the room and made a calculated move and sat in John’s chair. Sherlock huffed a second time and rolled over, so he could see Mycroft.

‘Why are you here Mycroft?’

‘It concerns Dr Watson,’ Sherlock narrowed his eyes and gave his brother his best death glare before staring down at the carpet and closing his eyes.

‘I don’t want to talk about him’ Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.

‘Sherlock!’ Mycroft said sharply, causing Sherlock to look up at him. He could see the worry lines around Mycroft’s eyes – worry for not only himself but also for John. But why Mycroft would be worried about John Watson, Sherlock had no idea.

‘Dr Watson –John, he needs you – he’s wasting away over at Ms. Watson’s House. He hasn’t left her house since she took him there from rehab. He has not been to any of his out patient appointments and none of his appointments with the deaf counsellor that were organised for him prior to his discharge. He needs you to help him Sherlock. YOU need to go and get him.’

‘Mycroft he doesn’t want to be around me, he doesn’t want to be with me anymore’ Mycroft sighed, and from the small hole between his fingers, Sherlock could see him pinching the bridge of his nose.

‘Sherlock what Dr. Watson wants is to be wanted, and wanted by you! It’s quite obvious, even you should have been able to see it. Be that as it may surely it isn’t beneath you to help a friend, not just any old friend but one that has saved your life how many times now?’ Sherlock opened his mouth to retort when his mobile rang.

 

_Graham Lestrade – calling_

 

‘Yes Lestrade’

‘Sherlock you need to come down to the Yard right now’ Sherlock didn’t move from his position on the couch, instead he yawned loudly and stretched.

‘What could you possibly need me for Lestrade. Nothing has been happening in the last few weeks.’

‘Sherlock its John – he’s back in hospital’.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God so angsty!! Shall have to update the tags, so please take note! i don't want to be anyone's trigger! 
> 
> I did mean to write a bit more and make this chapter a bit longer, but the place I stopped seemed to fit in with the next chapter.   
> I'm having a bit of a rough time in my job at the moment, so things such as writing out my story plan have taken a temporary backseat.   
> My dad is coming to visit tomorrow for a week, so no writing for at least a week now for me, and I have to decide what to do about my job - but anyway!
> 
> Enjoy this angst filled chapter! Don't forget to comment and Kudos!! I am certainly feeling the love. Thank you so much to everyone who comments and kudo's! it makes writing so much more enjoyable when I know people are enjoying my work :)
> 
> until next time!

His heart was hammering in his chest. He didn’t think he had ever felt it beat so hard. Even when the pool incident was underway his heart still didn’t positively want to leap out of his chest as it did in this moment. Lestrade had not given him any details on the phone about why, when or how John was back in hospital and he hung up with a swift ‘Get to Bart’s NOW!’ meaning Sherlock had no time to deduce anything from the call.

Sherlock had sat momentarily stunned, before Mycroft had spurred him into action by poking him sharply with his umbrella. The ride to the hospital had been fairly short and Sherlock opened the door of the sleek black car before it had even come to a complete stop. He noted Lestrade standing by the emergency department doors. He made a beeline for him.

‘Lestrade, what on earth happened?’ Lestrade shook his head indicating that the conversation would have to wait until they found a more private area of the hospital to speak in. Sherlock followed Lestrade through the maze of corridors until they came to a stop outside a door labelled ‘ICU visitors lounge’. Both men entered.

‘Sit down Sherlock’ Lestrade motioned for Sherlock to take the couch, but Sherlock stood resolutely in front of it. Lestrade sighed, but stood firm.

‘You’ll want to sit down for this.’ Sherlock grudgingly sat perched on the edge of the chair. Lestrade sat in a chair opposite taking a deep breath.

 

‘John was found by his sister Harriet in the bathroom of the flat he shares with her. He was unconscious when she found him. He… Sherlock there’s no easy way to say this. It appears the John tried to commit suicide.’ Sherlock didn’t know what he expected to hear, but it certainly wasn’t that. Pain bloomed in his gut as he thought about what John must have been going through all by himself, alone in Harriet’s flat. Maybe Mycroft was right, maybe John had wanted him. Lestrade cleared his throat, pulling out a small evidence bag, which Sherlock could see contained John’s phone and wallet.

‘He has you down as next of kin, and they found these in his trouser pockets. I thought I would give them to you for safe keeping.’ Sherlock accepted the bag without comment, but stared at the corner of the wallet, where the tiniest smear of blood could be seen. The [ain in his stomach increased slightly and he thought he might be sick. He placed the bag in his coat pocket for examination later as the door to the visitors’ lounge opened, Lestrade and Sherlock looking up at the intrusion.

‘Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?’ Lestrade motioned towards him. The man in front extended his hand, but Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to offer his hand in return. It was taking all his physical energy to keep his emotions in check and to keep himself from either vomiting up the meagre contents of his stomach, or storming around the lounge smashing everything and anything in sight. The man didn’t seem to surprised not to receive a hand shake in return for his offered hand.

‘I’m Doctor Forlano one of the trauma specialists here at Barts. I have been made aware that you are Doctor Watson’s next of kin.’ Sherlock nodded, remaining silent.

‘Doctor Watson has lost a significant volume of blood. His condition is called Hypovolemic shock. He obviously knew the fastest way to bleed out, and which way to cut. He lost just under 20% of his blood volume, anymore and we would not have been able to save him. His sister called the ambulance at just the right moment. We don’t believe at this stage that he has sustained any other damage to his organs or suffered from any heart complications, but we shall have to monitor him closely over the next 24 – 48 hours. He has received both fluid and blood products since he arrived. We are also giving him a course of antibiotics to prevent infections from the wounds on his arms. He did no further damage to his broken ankle, nor from his gunshot wound. Since being with us he has not woken up, however we have decided to give him a light sedative. It may be better for him to wake up with a familiar face, so if you wish to see him you are most welcome Mr. Holmes.’ Sherlock nodded and rose from the couch, following the doctor down the hallway, completely ignoring Lestrade and Mycroft – who had appeared out the lounge, only moment before.

 

The cubicle housing John was next to the one he had last time he was in here, not that long ago. Sherlock cringed slightly at the thought of more time spent in such a place of pain and misery, but he quickly schooled his expression, blank and passive as Dr Forlano led him into John’s cubicle. The nurse was sat at the end of the John’s bed, pen clicking, notes being taken and a watchful eye being kept over the patient. Dr Forlano gave him a small pat on the back and left Sherlock alone. A plastic chair had been placed on John’s right side. He was laying prostrate in the bed, the bulky shape of his cast visible under the thin sheet covering him. Both his wrists were bandaged from wrist to halfway down his arm, and soft cotton restraints were keeping him attached to the bed. Sherlock stared at them in shock.

‘They are just a precautionary measure Mr. Holmes. So John cannot hurt himself when he awakes.’ The nurse softly noted, before scribbling in her notes. Sherlock let out another breath, and slowly sank down into the chair. He slid his hands through the bar, and grasped John’s right hand gently in his own, avoiding the cannulas. He gently stroked both thumbs over John’s knuckles. When he spoke sometime later, the nurse almost gave a start it was so unexpected.

‘I’m so sorry John. I’ll not leave your side again’.

 

***************************************************************************

 

Wherever he was this time it was dark and eerily quiet. A small yellow light appeared at the edge of his vision but John had no desire to try and catch it. Plus, even if he had the desire to find out what the light was, he felt too weak physically to try and make his way towards it. His body felt raw and weak. He tried to move but he felt trapped, stuck, unable to think of anything but a stranger lingering feeling that started in his wrists but quickly began to overtake the rest of his body.

‘Sherlock’ he whimpered, as the pulsating, strange almost painful feeling raced around his body became stronger and stronger. The pounding in his head wasn’t abating and he thought he may be sick.

‘Sherlock’ this time the name came out as more of a moan. John felt soft fingers touching him, in what could be considered a calming manner. They began to massage his scalp, and felt incredibly familiar. John moaned again as the pulsating of his body gave another jolt.

‘Sherlock, please. I love you, please’ John murmured before the darkness and pain seemed to engulf his consciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 91 kudos! Are you serious??!!! Thank you so much guys!!
> 
> I didn't expect to have this chapter out so quickly (only one week since the last chapter!) But i had the urge to write it and then it sort of just completed itself! So here we are. John and Sherlock finally do something about that tension between them. A little bit angsty but mostly just Johnlockiness!
> 
> Next chapter we shall be back to the angst and figuring how Sherlock and John move forward now their relationship had changed.... oh and lets not forget about Moriarty shall we!
> 
> As always comments and kudos are beautiful, wonderful and inspiring so please give generously!

Soft fingers were gently massaging his scalp, alternating with long strokes through his curls. Sherlock sighed, feeling the crick in his neck and back. He shifted his head, but the fingers continued their motions.

‘So it’s not a dream’ Sherlock though, his breath hitching when he remembered where he was.

‘Sherlock?’ He could hear the question in the voice – checking quietly to see if he was awake but not loud enough to wake him if he had still been asleep.

Sherlock slowly sat up, the hand falling away from his head, with a soft thump. His eyes connected with John’s and he gave a small hesitant smile, which thankfully was returned. Sherlock sighed, and took hold of John’s hand through the bars of the bed, giving it a soft squeeze. John looked away, his face becoming pained and his body tensing slighty as he surveyed himself.

‘I’ve made a bit of a mess of things haven’t I?’ John’s laugh was hollow and soft, he wrists tugging slightly on the restraints. Sherlock gently placed his hand on John’s chin and turned his face towards him. He shook his head and gently moved his hand up to John’s cheek. John leant into the touch and sighed.

‘How did you know I was here?’ Sherlock went to reply, but instead pulled his phone from his pocked and wrote out his message.

Lestrade phoned me. John nodded, grimacing slightly and clenching his fists, trying to supress a grunt of pain.

Are you in pain? John shook his head.

‘Nothing I don’t deserve’. Sherlock raised his eyebrows but didn’t respond, apart from giving John’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. They would talk about everything that had led John to being here later, but first Sherlock knew he had to discuss with John what he had found on his phone.

When I arrived here Lestrade gave me your wallet and phone. You were muttering in your sleep earlier, and I thought I might find a clue as to why you chose to do what you did in the notes of your phone. John’s face turned bright red and he closed his eyes. Sherlock tapped his shoulder and showed him his phone again.

When I opened your phone, it was open in your message folder, and I noticed you have a draft sitting waiting to be sent next to my name, so I opened the message. 

John I… John turned his head away not wanting to read any more of what Sherlock was telling him.

‘Sherlock don’t please. I… I don’t want to ruin anything between us... Please I can’t keep going if you’re not my friend… just can we go back to the way things were… Just forget al about what you saw…?’ John’s pleading was cut off as Sherlock placed a finger against his lips. He held his phone up for John to read.

I think I quite like you too you idiot. Sherlock removed his finger and lent down close to John over the bars of the bed. He carefully watched John’s face, noting the way his eyes dilated slightly and his breathing hitched. When his mouth was only an inch or so from John’s he stopped and stared into John’s eyes.

‘Sherlock, please’ John asked, attempting to move his hands to cup Sherlock’s face but being restricted by his restraints. That was all the confirmation Sherlock needed and he closed the gap between their mouths breathing out a soft ‘John’ before he kissed him.

The kiss was soft and hesitant for a few moments before John grunted impatiently. Sherlock cupped both his cheek and deepened the kids, running his tongue over John’s lower lip, causing John to moan quietly.

They were both so caught up in their kiss that they didn’t notice John’s heart monitor beeping, nor the sound of his nurse swishing the curtain back. It was only when she coughed loudly that Sherlock pulled back startled, breathing quickly, red flooding his cheeks.

‘Ah Nurse Johnson is something the matter?’ The nurse smiled and moved around the bed, turning off the alarm on John’s heart monitor. Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

‘I was just coming in to check on Dr. Watson’s heart rate monitor. But I’ve turned the alarms to silent for the next 10 minutes. Now I must go make a coffee, you shall be right to watch over Dr. Watson won’t you Mr. Holmes?’ the nurse winked at him before closing the curtain with a swish behind her. Sherlock stared after the nurse, thoroughly embarrassed, his cheeks feeling as though they were burning.

 

‘Sherlock, what did she say?’

She has silenced your heart rate monitor alarms for the next 10 minutes and has gone to get a coffee. John grinned up at him and raised his eyebrows. Sherlock placed his phone down on the nurses desk at the end of the bed and then proceeded to leap gracefully over the bars onto the bed, straddling John’s hips in the process, being careful not to jostle his broken ankle. He slowly began to loosen the restraint on John’s right wrist, and slipped it off, leaving it to hang off the side of the bed. He carefully took John’s arm and held it up. Sherlock proceeded to kiss his way from John’s middle finger, down his palm, towards his elbow. He placed soft feather light kisses on the bandages from John’s wrist until he got to his elbow. Sherlock proceeded to repeat the process for Johns left arm, slipping the restraint off and carefully leaving a trail of kisses from fingertip to elbow. When he was finished, he gently placed John’s arms back down on the bed. He looked up at John’s face to see tears falling down his cheeks. Sherlock eyebrows creased and he looked slightly startled. John noticed and shook his head.

 

‘These are happy tears Sherlock. Kiss me again’ Sherlock smiled, leaning down, feeling John’s hands slide up his thighs to rest on his hips. He gently kissed away John’s tears and then kissed him a little harder, pressing him slightly down into the mattress. John responded by giving his hips a squeeze and pushing back up into the kiss. The continued to pressed their lips together, sometimes hard and short, sometimes long and soft, until they were both breathless. Sherlock pulled back, running his hands through John’s short hair.

‘Stay with me’ John whispered, patting the bed beside him on his right side. Sherlock gave him one more quick kiss before manuvering himself down the side of the bed, so his back was slightly resting against the bars of the bed, and John was half lying on him. Sherlock encircled his arms around John’s waist, bringing them to rest of him stomach. He gve John’s neck a series of quick kisses.

 

‘Please John, please come home. Come home. Its’ not the same without you. I’ll take care of you. I won’t abandon you ever again.’ Sherlock murmured against John’s neck. John snuggle back into his embrace, sighing contentedly, his bandaged arms resting lightly on top of Sherlock’s arms.

‘As soon as you can, take me home Sherlock’ John mumbled before being pulled back into sleep, unaware of Sherlock’s previous sentiment. Sherlock closed his eyes, uncertain if he would sleep, but happy in the knowledge John Watson was going to be coming home with him.


	8. Chapter 8

‘Sherlock Stop’ John sighed

‘Please just, can I have a minute?’ John closed his eyes, resting his head back against the top of the arm chair he was sitting in. He was currently in the patient lounge at the end of the mental health ward at Bart’s. Sherlock sat in an arm chair opposite him, laptop (John’s!) perched on his knees. John feels a gentle tap on his right knee, and looks up at Sherlock.

\- **OK** \- Sherlock signs a little hesitantly before going back to John’s laptop. John grumbled tiredly leaning back against the chair. His ankle, still encased in the moon boot, hung off the edge of the arm chair. John couldn’t wait to have full mobility back and all limbs returned to normal. He knew now he was going to have enough to contend with trying to learn to communicate with the world again. Sure he could still see, John should really see the silver lining in all of this, but at the moment all John could see was the darkness clouding in. His heart had felt slightly lighter when Sherlock had confessed his intense like for him, and the kissing and cuddling had been everything John had craved over the last few weeks.

 

John sensed air movement in front of him and opens his eyes in time to see Sherlock heading out of the room. Another sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head back again, eyes slipping closed. He had spent 2 days in ICU before being transferred here to the mental health ward. He was supposed to be having a mental health assessment this afternoon, but he really didn’t want to talk to someone about how he was feeling. He was having a hard enough time trying to communicate with Sherlock as it was. He was getting sick, after only 2 days’ mind, of having to use the whiteboard, or read off Sherlock’s phone. Then there was the fact that Sherlock seemed to have taken it upon himself to help John learn to communicate, by learning British Sign Language, or BSL. They had been working on it for the past few days, and they had barely made it to the end of the alphabet.

 

His arms had begun to itch underneath his bandages, and since he had woken up from his earlier nap he had been feeling even more tired and cranky than normal. He wanted to storm back to his room, and rage against the injustice of it all. But since the cuts on his arms were still healing, the doctor said he wasn’t allowed to put too much pressure on the wounds. So eating and holding light items was fine, but he was not allowed to use his crutches again for another few days, meaning that Sherlock had to help him in and out of a blasted wheelchair every time he wanted to go anywhere. The wheelchair sat beside the arm chair, afghan rug from the back of the Baker Street couch draped over it. Sherlock had been taking him outside for about half an hour a day to get some fresh air. John reached for the afghan, but couldn’t quite reach it. He slid his bottom further forward in the chair and reached for it again, but he became slightly over balanced on the edge of the arm chair and pitched forward. He wasn’t quick enough to break his fall from the chair with his hands, so landed harshly on his elbows. Tears sprang into his eyes as he lay face down on the carpet of the lounge. He didn’t have the strength to roll over, let alone get back into the arm chair. John allowed himself to lay on the carpet, tears streaming down his face, and he sobbed for everything he had lost since that night at the pool.

 

**************************************************************************

Sherlock took a long drag of his, disgusting low tar cigarette. He puffed the smoke out in front of his face, before placing the cigarette back in his mouth and freeing both hands. He began to think about the sign he had been learning with John over the past few days.

J – a slide of his index finger on his right hand in a J motion from the base of his thumb on his left hand, and up hi middle finger

O – index finger of his right hand connecting with his ring finger on his left hand which has been tilted slightly forwards

H – holding his left palm flat and running his complete right hand up from the bottom of the left hand to the top

N – index and middle finger of his right hand resting on the palm of his left hand.

 

Sherlock signed each letter slowly, before speeding up and trying to sign it in the same speed he said John’s name. He coughed rather violently, yanking the cigarette from his mouth and crushing it under his foot. His spluttering continued for a moment until he was able to get enough fresh air into his lungs.

‘I can see you are still too uncouth to be able to handle even the mildest cigarettes brother dear, maybe you should just give it up brother dear.’ Mycroft appeared over Sherlock’s right shoulder, cigarette in his own glove covered fingers.

‘Oh pack it in Mycroft, I’m busy,’ Sherlock waved his hand dismissively in Mycroft’s general direction, but instead of moving away, Mycroft came and stood in front of him, a gentle puff of smoke being blown into his face. Sherlock scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

‘You know why I am here Sherlock and it is not merely to check on the health of Dr. Watson, though that is one reason I came here today. But not the most important reason. I feel I have given you enough time Sherlock, you need to be giving your answer about what is to be done in relation to Mr. Jim Moriarty,’ Sherlock’s hands clenched in unconscious fits at his side and he trembled slightly, struggling to control the anger coursing through his body just at the mention of that name.

‘I do not wish to talk about him right now. And Mycroft, if your bunch of halfwit minions are incapable of finding the man himself I suggest you fire them all and maybe get back into the leg work yourself, although you that ruin your weekly cake eating schedule?’

 

Sherlock’s text alert pinged just as Mycroft opened his mouth to retort. Unknown number, with a simple and chilling 5 word messages stared back at Sherlock.

 

_Is John safe right now?_

 

Within seconds Sherlock was flying back into the hospital and up the internal stairs to the mental health ward, the lift would be way to slow. He swiped his staff pass (it had been rather easy to acquire one), and yanked the door open with a crash, Mycroft right behind him. They made it to the patient lounge one minute after Sherlock had received the message to find John lying face down on the floor sobbing. Sherlock slowly moved forward and knelt down next to John. They hadn’t yet figured out a way for Sherlock to gain John’s notice without starting him quite badly. Sherlock gently ran his hand over the top of John’s head and through his hair. He felt John’s hand reach out and grip his right ankle.

‘Sherlock’ John moaned brokenly into the carpet. Sherlock, gently gripped his shoulders and rolled him over, before supporting him to sit up, his back to Mycroft who was standing in the door way a look of pity covering his features.

‘Sh…er….lo…ck’ John sobbed, arms falling limply into his lap. Sherlock moved around so he was in front of John, facing Mycroft. He carefully wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders and that’s all it too before John was reaching forward towards his shirt.

 

Sherlock raised his eyebrows up at Mycroft over the top of John’s head as John sobbed into his shirt, his finger gripping Sherlock’s top in a vice like grip. The unspoken question hung in the air momentarily before Mycroft answered.

‘It will be done brother mine in 24 hours.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD!!! Thank you so much! over 100 kudos!!! 
> 
> Here we go! another chapter done. I wrote the beginning of this when I was out walking to dog yesterday.   
> There may not be an update for a little while now as I am soon to be extremely busy moving again! I quit my job and am moving to London in a week's time! which is a 5 hour drive away from where I am currently living, so I have to fit in work, plus packing, plus extra baby sitting and dog walking this week!
> 
> So anyway, if anyone out there can explain to me in more detail about BSL that would be fantastic! I have only managed to figure out a little bit of the Alphabet so I am certainly no expert with it comes it comes to BSL, I wouldn't even say I am a novice either, i just really have no idea, and whilst I have done a little bit of research, having someone who could help me out with sentence construction and how to learn BSL would be rather helpful! So drop me a line! 
> 
> And further to that, i shall apologise if I speak/ sign anything incorrectly, as I said I am no expert and have only done a small amount of internet research into BSL!
> 
> once again Kudos and comments always appreciated, loved and needed to keep me writing!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter in as many days! goodness me! I am supposed to be packing for my move to London, but then this chapter just sort of started, and didn't stop! So please enjoy! But do know that there probably won't be another chapter for about two weeks now (unless i decide to procrastinate again and not pack!)
> 
> This chapter just kept flowing from my fingers so is a little longer than normal. I am quite please with it actually, i mean it could be better, but maybe when I have more time I shall re write it. anyway I am now procrastinating by writing this note instead of packing! 
> 
> Right - enjoy as always! Kudos and comment if you enjoy, or just want to chat :)

The decision was made to move John from Barts’ hospital to the Holmes Estate. They could have gone back to Baker Street, where John would be most comfortable in familiar surroundings to recuperate but Mycroft had insisted that the Holmes Estate was where they should go. It was private and quiet and somewhere that ‘Dr Watson could do as he wished when he wished without being hounded by those who are apparently concerned for his welfare.’ Sherlock grudgingly agreed, adding it would give them more time to discuss the Moriarty issue and for John to process everything away from possible prying eyes. Plus, the advantage was not many people actually knew the Holmes Manor existed and therefore it was the perfect place for privacy.

 

The doctors protested loudly seeming to believe that John was severely depressed and needed to be kept in a locked ward and, as Sherlock put it, ‘drugged to the eye balls’ until he felt better. Sherlock was having none of that, and Mycroft managed to use his power and influence to pull enough strings to get a doctor to sign off on it.

 

They ended up having to sedate John, his death like grip never ceasing on Sherlock's top and the possibility of trying to speak to him to get him to calm down, not possible. He had struggled against the nurse when she had arrived to give him the sedation, but Sherlock could tell he was really too weak, physically and emotionally to actually put up a real fight. Sherlock continued to run his hands through John's hair, trying to use his physical presence to calm him. John reached up, gripping his face between his hands, pulling them so their eyes were level.   
  
'You better not leave me this time you bastard, otherwise I will not come back next time.' John murmured in Sherlock's ear before his eyes closed and his breathing evened out, face going slack, almost peaceful. Sherlock gently stroked his hair and gave him a gentle kiss, whispering in his ear

‘I won’t leave you this time John, I promise’ before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead as he was lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled back to his room.   
  
Sherlock was surprised by the fact it only took Mycroft 12 hours to arrange everything for John’s transfer to the Holmes manor, including collecting clothes and a few items from them both from Baker Street. Sherlock soon found himself in the back of one of Mycroft's sleek black cars, following behind an unmarked patient transport van that John was in. They had decided to keep him sedated until he was safely inside the Holmes Manor. Sherlock did have to agree with the doctors on one point in relation to John’s care, the less outside stimulus the better at this point in time.

 

‘Brother mine, I’ve arranged for Dr. Rachael Jones to come to the estate in 2 days’ time to speak with John. Here is a file with all pertinent information in relation to her professional life.’ Mycroft placed the file in the middle of the car seats for Sherlock to pick up at his leisure. Sherlock simply stared out the window lost in thought.

‘Hm, yes alright.’ He muttered.

‘It may aid in his recovery Sherlock, don’t let him shrug her off. She has been specially trained to deal with PTSD from all circumstances in particular for those who have been in a life changing accident. According to Anthea she is the best in the business,’ Sherlock looked over at Mycroft and gave a small nod, before taking the folder and scanning the couple of pages within. He nodded again and held the walkie talkie up to his mouth.

‘Situation report Anthea’

‘Sherlock, since the last time you called 5 minutes ago, nothing has changed. He’s still stable, still sedated, and still occasionally muttering. All vitals are fine and our ETA is approximately 30 minutes. Relax and stop worrying, he is being taken care of to an exceptional standard.’ Sherlock huffed

‘Thank you’ he said grudgingly before placing the walkie talkie in between himself and Mycroft. It had been decided that Anthea would ride with John so Mycroft could try and speak with Sherlock about not only his recovery, but also Sherlock’s own recovery, and the ever growing problem that was Moriarty. Once it became clear that Sherlock was in no place to speak about Moriarty, Mycroft simply placed a hand on his knee.

 

‘Close your eyes brother dear, try to take a break and wipe your mind. John’s going to need you to be as mentally strong as you can be’. Sherlock sighed, turning his face away from Mycroft, but nonetheless closing his eyes. Mycroft was right, even if Sherlock hated to admit it. He needed to be at his best to continue to get John Watson back to his pre-pool self. The last thing he felt as he fell into a restless nap was Mycroft giving his knee a light squeeze.   
  
***************************************************************************  
  
John never knew a bed could feel as soft as the one he was currently lying in. It felt like it was just gently cupping his body. Supporting it in all the right places with the soothing weight of the duvet on top of him, and the feather soft pillow supporting his head. The sheets were so soft, as if he was lying on the purest of cotton, no scratchiness or irritation coming from them whatsoever.  

I’m definitely not in a hospital bed anymore, he thought to himself, gently moving his fingers and toes. There was no tell-tale sting in the back of his hand when he moved his fingers, so the IV had been removed completely. The bandages were still covering both arms from wrist to elbow, but they felt softer as well somehow, and definitely fresh. But this was definitely not his bed at Baker Street, unless he was in Sherlock’s bed. Taking a deep breath through his nose, John decided it couldn’t be Sherlock’s bed because it didn’t smell at all like the detective. Speaking of Sherlock…

 

‘Oh god’ John groaned, cheeks feeling hot and flaming red as he remembered his slight breakdown in the patient lounge at Bart’s. He lifted a hand up to his face, to rub his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He cracked his eyes open to survey the room around him. He was in the middle of a large four poster bed, complete with dark drapes. The walls of the room were a light cream colour and he could see a light shining through a door to his left, which he assumed must be a bathroom. Looking to his right he noticed large floor to ceiling windows, with curtains open, but the sun was just setting. There were two arm chairs facing the window a small table between them, and John finally noticed another arm chair not far from the end of the bed, with one Sherlock Holmes sitting in it, hands steepled beneath his chin in what had become his trademark style, staring intently at John. John looked down at the bedding as he felt himself blush even deeper if possible, upon seeing Sherlock. He definitely had not been at his best the last time he had been with the detective. The bed dipped beside him, and looked up into the smiling face of Sherlock.

 

 **\- JOHN** – Sherlock sighed rapidly, before pulling up the whiteboard from beside the bed.

‘ **Please don’t feel embarrassed. It is all normal behaviour after a trauma such as the one you have had.’** John huffed at this but smiled up at Sherlock, gently pulling on the front of Sherlock’s top to pull him in for a gentle kiss. Sherlock didn’t resist and kissed him back tenderly. John felt his eyes fill with tears at the tenderness Sherlock was showing him. Sherlock pulled back slightly, and showed him the whiteboard.

 **‘How are you feeling** ’

‘I feel absolutely horrible Sherlock. How did all this happen? How am I here right now?’ A pained expression crossed Sherlock’s face before he turned the whiteboard back to John.

 **‘Would a shower make you feel better?’** John nodded.

‘That’s the most intelligent question you’ve ever asked’ Sherlock chuckled and pulled back the cover for John.

‘ **I’ll help you hobble into the bathroom, it’s not far. There is a stool in there for you to sit on. The doctor has said we can wash your arms too if you want too.’** John nodded and slowly dragged his moon boot across the bed, till he was able to sit on the side of it. Sherlock slowly unwound his bandages, and left them on the bedside table. John looked down at the angry red scars now running the length of his forearms.

‘They are disgusting’ John breathed, a single tear rolling down his cheek and landing on his pyjama bottoms.

‘ **No John – they demonstrate the fight you’ve been through. They show the warrior within you. I think they are beautiful’** Sherlock gently took both of his hands, and placed gentle kisses on the back of each hand, before helping to his feet, arm securely around his waist.

Once in the bathroom, Sherlock had him sit on the toilet whilst he placed a big garbage bag over his moon boot, wrapping it tightly with hospital tape at the top, making sure it was secure and water proof. John felt embarrassed when Sherlock undressed him, but Sherlock merely caressed his leg as he slid his underwear off, before coming back up to his face and planting a kiss on his forehead, both cheeks and then his mouth. He helped John hobble into the shower and sit on the stool that was already in there. He handed John the shower hose, and adjusted the temperature to be just right. John let the hot water run over his skin, feeling it’s soothing effect on his aching joints. He let the water run down his back, and over his hair, down his face. He pointed the shower hose at his chest and looked out of the shower for Sherlock, who was standing with his back turned, to give John some privacy.

‘Sherlock’ the man himself turned towards him.

‘Can you please help me wash my hair?’ Sherlock nodded, and slowly stripped out of his t-shirt and trousers. He moved towards the shower and stood in front of John only in his underwear. John could see the very slight strain in the front of Sherlock’s underwear and reached forward. He felt Sherlock’s hand lightly on his wrist. Sherlock gently shook his head and after a few moments, the whiteboard was in John’s view.

‘ **Whilst I find you incredibly attractive, as my body is indicating and have no doubt that I am falling very hard for you, now is not the right time for this. I will wash your hair for you and then back to bed with you for more rest.’** Sherlock smiled, and leaned down to kiss John’s wet lips. John moaned slightly before Sherlock pulled away, catching the slight dilation of Sherlock’s pupils, and the ghost of a kiss on his cheek. Sherlock stood behind him, and massaged the shampoo into his hair. John couldn’t help the little content moans that left his mouth as Sherlock’s fingers worked their magic and he could feel himself relaxing with each stroke of Sherlock’s fingers. John washed the shampoo out of his hair, and Sherlock switched the shower off. He unwrapped the garbage bag from his leg once he had him seated on a towel on the toilet. Sherlock tenderly dried him legs, and gently patted over his arms. He gave his hair a quick tussle with the towel, causing John to let out a small laugh at what his hair must look like. Sherlock helped him into underwear and pyjama bottoms, before assisting him to stand in front of the bathroom sink to brush his hair, and clean his teeth. He was right, his hair was a mess after Sherlock had attacked it with the towel. Sherlock helped him hobble back to the bed, after putting on a pair of pyjama bottoms himself. John scooted back into the middle of the bed and lay on his back. Sherlock gently re-wrapped his arms and then sat on the very edge of the bed, seemingly hesitant about what to do next. John felt comfortable and almost happy for the first time since the pool. He patted the bed.

 

‘Join me’ He sighed, and then all of sudden Sherlock was in bed next to him, gently rolling him onto his right side, slotting in behind him, as they had been in hospital all those days ago. Sherlock gently placed one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder. John snuggled back into Sherlock and could feel his warm breath on his bare neck and shoulder.

‘Sherlock, I think I’ve already fallen so hard for you; I don’t know if there is a way back for me’ He whispered closing his eyes. Sherlock’s gentle kisses on his neck and slight squeeze of his hip helped him drift into a dreamless sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can't believe it has been so long since I updated this. I don't actually think many people are even waiting for this update but for those who were I am so so sorry it's been so long!  
> I had writers block on this chapter for a long while, and then when I no longer had writers block I had no time to write. My job is quite tiring - standing for 7.5 hours a day 5 days a week is a lot more tiring then i had originally anticipated, so when I do get home from work all I can seem to do is eat and then go to sleep. 
> 
> Anyway the chapter! Do enjoy :)   
> It got a little dark and twisty at the end which I didn't realise was going to happen till it did. I am hoping to have another update within the next month, but I am going away for a mini-break of 4 days from tomorrow and then working over time at work next week, so we shall just have to wait and see if I get time for the next chapter. 
> 
> Please do let me know what you think! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated and have inspired me in the past with the direction of my stories and getting the next chapter written.

John’s weight was practically crushing him. Everything was wet and sodden and weighing him down and if he didn’t do something soon both he and John would die.

Sherlock grabbed John’s collar and started kicking with all his might. He tried not to draw in a breath, certain he would choke. A few bubbles left his mouth as he pulled harder on John’s collar and just when he thought he couldn’t possibly push any harder, his head broke the surface of the pool and he was able to take in a huge gulp of air, spluttering slightly. He wasn’t too far away from the edge, and could see arms clad in florescent yellow reaching for him and John. Sound reverberated around him but he couldn’t make out specific words. He pushed John ahead of him, and there was a whoosh of water as he was lifted from the water and lain by the side of the pool. Sherlock reached up and was dragged out of the pool, coat weighing him down significantly. He tried to stand on his legs but they wouldn’t hold his weight and he promptly collapsed onto the tiles on his hands and knees. His ears were ringing slightly but he crawled his way across to John before anyone could stop him.

‘John, John!’ he shook John’s shoulders and all that left John’s mouth was a small moan and a slight cough. Surveying John’s body, he could see his face was already swelling where a stray piece of tile had slammed into it. He could see where the bone was protruding slightly at his ankle and where blood was pooling under his leg from the gunshot wound. There was also a barely noticeable trickle of blood running from both ears.

‘John, open your eyes for me’ Sherlock pleaded, and before he knew it, John jerked straight up, mouth open before his whole body seemed to vibrate before he vomited pool water all over himself and Sherlock. He gulped in a few huge breaths eye wide open, before collapsing back onto the pool deck with a moan, eyes closing, hands grasping towards his leg. A hand was placed on Sherlock’s shoulder and the next thing he knew he was being forcefully pulled away from John, as the paramedics jumped in to assess and care for him.

 

Sherlock growled at those who’d manoeuvred him away from John. He looked up to tear strips off them, when he saw Lestrade’s concerned face looking down at him.

‘Are you hurt?’

 

‘No, no, no, no Lestrade! I need to be with John.’ A louder moan was heard from where John was lying as paramedics where placing a collar around his neck and oxygen mask over his face. Another paramedic was placing a splint on John’s ankle.  A strangled scream left John’s mouth as pressure was applied to his gunshot wound before it was tightly wrapped with a bandage. Sherlock lurched forward and was held back by Lestrade and Anderson.

‘No Sherlock, he’s in good hands. Let them look after him.’ Lestrade pushed him back down into the portable wheelchair the paramedics had brought in for him.

‘You are to go to hospital.’ Sherlock struggled to get out of the chair but Lestrade knelt in front of it and placing a hand in the middle of his chest, pushed him back.

‘You are bleeding Sherlock, and you need to take care of yourself right now. John’s in good hands and you’ll see him at the hospital. Donovan’s gonna ride with him to keep him safe. I’ll come with you.’ Lestrade, stood and kept his hand firmly on Sherlock’s shoulder while he walked beside him. Sherlock was pushed away from John, towards a waiting ambulance. Tears stung his eyes as he was pushed further and further away from John.

‘No! Greg! Take me back please.’ Sherlock begged, glancing up at Lestrade.

‘John! John! Please take me back, take me back to him. Jooohhhhnnnnnn!’

 

************************************************************************

 

John awoke with a start, the silence and darkness of the room all-consuming and for a moment he wondered where he was. Once he managed to process the fact he was no longer in hospital but was in fact in the Holmes Manor, it seemed to still be in the middle of the night and he was in the most comfortable bed he had ever been in, he turned his mind to what had woken him. He felt Sherlock shift beside him, but immediately noticed that the movement was one of distress. He carefully rolled himself onto his back and sat up, glancing down at Sherlock. The sight shocked him slightly, as Sherlock’s normally calm demeanour had changed and his face was screwed up in pain, tears slowly leaking from under his eyes lids. His hands unconsciously seemed to shift beside his body, clenching into fists, and the rise and fall of his chest seemed rather erratic. John took hold of his wrist, and found his pulse was racing.

‘Sherlock’ He said loudly, but the man in question continued to stubbornly stay asleep, trapped, John decided, in some sort of nightmare. As he opened his mouth and appeared to be begging with someone, the tears continuing down his cheeks. He placed a hand on Sherlock’s chest and one on his shoulder, giving him a shake before loudly repeating

‘Sherlock, wake up. It’s a dream, wake up.’ It took a few moments, in which John was sure Sherlock was screaming before Sherlock’s eyes flew open and he gripped onto John’s wrists hard. He blinked a number of times and finally focussed on John’s face. John gave a little smile and Sherlock slowly lowered himself. John could see his chest rise and fall rhythmically as he took a number of deep breaths. He pulled John down to lie on top of him, and John merely followed, sensing the dream had involved him in some way and Sherlock now needed reassurance the he was indeed still present.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, Sherlock’s phone was in his face.

 _Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you did I?_ John moved sideways a bit so he was lying on his back again, and turned his head towards Sherlock, who was leant up on his elbows looking down at John. John smiled up and him and gently wiped away the traces of tears from Sherlock’s cheeks.

‘You didn’t hurt me no, I’m fine.’ Sherlock nodded and continued to stare at John. After a few moments John tentatively questioned him.

‘Want to tell me what that was about?’ Sherlock gave a small shake of his head and John sighed.

‘I’m assuming it about me?’ Sherlock nodded minutely before he quickly typed on his phone.

 _It was the pool, after you pushed me out of the way…._ John pulled Sherlock forward until his head was resting on John’s chest. John slowly ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, giving his forehead a small kiss. He felt Sherlock sigh against his chest and gave Sherlock a few minutes to relax before he spoke again.

‘We need help Sherlock. Professional help.’ Sherlock moved his head to look up at John, and John could just make out the word ‘ok’ on his lips, before Sherlock kissed him. It was short and soft, and Sherlock lay back down onto his chest, slowly tracing patterns on his stomach. John rested one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and his other in his hair. He kissed Sherlock’s hair a second time and felt himself slipping back into sleep, but not before Sherlock placed a number of light kisses on his chest.

 

**********************************************************

 

Somewhere deep beneath London in a dark concrete basement was flooded with light. In one corner of the room was a bed, with what appeared to be chains attached the wall just above the plush looking pillows and linen stacked on the bed. They seemed to be at the perfect height for a person’s wrists to be secured. A reserved sign had been placed on the pillow, with a red rose lying next to it. In another corner a small urinal sat, sparkling clean, with a basin next to it. The basin housed a brand new tooth brush and tooth paste along with a new bottle of shaving cream and a razor. Once again chains were attached to the wall near the basin, at the perfect height to be attached to one’s ankles. The centre of the room was occupied by a single chair, white, plastic, again with a reserved sign on it, and a single red rose accompanying it. But the most astonishing thing about the room was probably found along the back wall where a brand new mahogany desk with a black leather chair placed behind it. The only item on the desk was a black framed picture turned towards the occupant of the chair. The chair which was currently leaned back on two wheels, with the person in it contemplating the room in front of him, mobile to his ear.

‘Perkins, yes… I think this room will do nicely. Do we have any idea where he has been taken? Hhhmmmm yes, report with a plan for his extraction in 20 minutes.’ The figure in the chair stood, and ran his fingers along the edge of the desk, before they came to rest in front of the photo frame.

‘Soon Doctor Watson, the real fun beings very very soon.’


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas one and all! Have a wonderful day celebrating, however it is that you do!
> 
> I for one have had an incredibly hot Christmas day where the temperature got to 36 degree Celsius!
> 
> I apologise again for the incredible delay - long weeks of writers block for this story, and the fact I have made another move from London back to Australia in the past month - have contributed to the delay.   
> And I am so sorry this chapter is quite short - my aim is to make the next chapter slightly longer to make up for it!
> 
> Please, kudos and comments are adored and do actually help me write! whoever was the last person to comment on my last chapter, actually helped me to clear my block and write this chapter. 
> 
> Merry Christmas again lovelies!! Enjoy!

John sat in a high backed plush arm chair in one of the manors many sitting rooms, his moon boot resting on a footstool. The sign language instructor that Mycroft had brought in was standing next to the old chalkboard that was filled with the words he was learning that day. It had been three days since Sherlock’s dream, and in those three days much had happened. As promised by Mycroft, Rachael Jones had come around to the Manor but John had been deeply asleep when she arrived. Sherlock had told her that he couldn’t possibly allow her to wake him, as he needed all the rest he could get after the traumatic experiences he had been through in the past few weeks.

When John had woken later that evening, with his face snuggled against Sherlock’s thigh, in what he now knew was the guest quarters of the manor, and enquired whether Sherlock had indeed spoken to her, he received a mere shrug and a kiss into his hair. He did tell John thought that she would be coming back at the end of the week to chat with him. At that point Sherlock had wriggled down the bed, pulling John onto his chest and told him that the new British Sign language instructor would be coming for a couple of hours of the next few days.

 

John had leapt into learning BSL. So far, he had learnt the alphabet, by which he could then use finger spelling to communicate whilst he was learning more words and sentences.

What was stumping him the most was sentence construction. It was not like normal talking. Instead of being ‘What is your name?’ it became ‘your name what?’, at least that’s what John thought it became. He was struggling to remember the signs for anything other than the alphabet.

 

John gave a frustrated sigh before looking up again to the chalkboard.

‘Melissa’ the instructor turned around from the board. ‘I think I’ve had enough for today thank you.’ Melissa nodded, signed several words before giving a small wave and leaving the room. She would be back tomorrow no doubt. John heaved himself out of the chair and slowly made his way down the long corridor to the kitchen. Apart from a few sitting rooms and the bedroom, John hadn’t really explored much of the Holmes Manor. When he had asked Sherlock for a tour, he had shrugged and said when John was stronger. John wanted to have a good look around and see if he could find Sherlock’s old bedroom or, just for laughs, Mycroft’s old bedroom. But when he had mention this to Sherlock, the reply had been ‘Mycroft still comes to stay sometimes… he doesn’t tell anyone… and he sleeps in the nude, I don’t think you really want to see that John!’ As John approached the kitchen, being as quiet as an elephant with his leg he imagined, he called out,

 

‘Sherlock – I think I might learn lip reading as well, it will make life much easier…’ John saw the gun before he saw anything else, and immediately raised his hands. He could see the holder of the gun moving their mouth, but his lip-reading skills were horrendously poor at present and he had no idea what was being said. From what he could see, where he had come to an abrupt stop in the Kitchen, was that Sherlock had a gun being held to his head by a balaclava clad man, and another two balaclava clad men were standing behind a very well dressed man, whose gun was now lazily pointed at John. John look up into those familiar black eyes.

 

‘Moriarty’

 **-  ‘J-O-H-N, N-i-c-e t-o s-e-e y-o-u a-g-a-i-n.’-** Moriarty had clearly been busy John thought, as he watched the mans’ fingers spell out each word. Then suddenly a phone was shoved in front of his face.

‘I find this method of communicating with you so much easier. Finger spelling is just tedious isn’t it’ John glanced up to see Moriarty grinning. John didn’t dare say anything, but a quick glance across at Sherlock told him that Moriarty must have also been speaking his text out loud. Sherlock was glaring at Moriarty with an intensity that John had no seen from the younger man before. John watched as an exchange took place between Moriarty and Sherlock, during which Sherlock struggled slightly against the man holding him, but abruptly stopped after Moriarty said something. The phone vibrated in John’s hand and he glanced down once more.

‘You have a very easy choice John. Either you walk out of here with me now and I won’t shoot Sherlock or you fight and struggle and I’ll cause exactly the same amount of physical damage to Sherlock as that damn bomb blast caused to you… and who knows, maybe his psychological trauma will be greater than yours… but we can only hope … which one will it be?’

John knew from the second he read the first sentence that he would be going with Moriarty. There was no question about it. John would do everything in his power to make sure that Sherlock stayed safe, and if that meant going with the mad man, then that is what he would do. He was damaged goods, no longer useful to anyone, least of all Sherlock. How would he be able to help his mad genius when he couldn’t even understand what the man was saying.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Moriarty grinned and the phone vibrated once more.

‘Don’t worry John, I’ll return you to Sherlock at some point… in what state of mind, or physical state, who can say really. Come along then.’  John began to follow Moriarty from the Kitchen but stop for a millisecond, turning back to Sherlock, who was struggling hard. John thought he could almost read a ‘please…no… don’t… John’ from the man’s lips before he spoke.

‘Don’t waste your time looking for me Sherlock, just… just be a good man… please do that for me.’ And with that John followed Moriarty from the Holmes Manor, boot his was sure, still clunking loudly on the floorboards.

‘Oh we are going to have so much fun Johnny Boy!’

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.   
> It will get worse before it gets better, and don't worry it will most definitely get better! 
> 
> Kudos and comments much appreciated!
> 
> I hope to update weekly :)
> 
> 3/10/15


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